Here and Back Again
by BellonaBellatrix
Summary: Some powers were never meant to be used in certain ways, and something things are best left untested. Sylar and Claire find that out the hard way. Sylaire
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The characters that you recognize belong to Tim Kring and NBC.

Author notes: This story can be considered a semi-continuation of An Act of Finality, though you can treat it as a separate story if you'd like. Actually, in my mind, I am myself. Just a few things you should know. Claire has memory loss. Sylar interfered with her abduction by some Company members; at the time, she was injected with the 'Haitian formula' which stunted her healing abilities. So when an accident did occur, she did have trouble remembering anything. This is why she calls Sylar 'Gabriel' in this fiction, since that was the name he used when he reintroduced himself.

With the title of the fic, it's inspired by Tolkien. However, it means something pretty specific to come in the next chapter. I was trying to think up the name for it, and when this occurred to me, well, nothing could fit the scenario better than that phrase. This will be a dark story, and a line will be crossed.

This has not been beta-ed, so if you see anything terribly off, you are free (and encouraged ;-) to tell me.

Warning: Some adult themes and language (yep, on this warning).

Here and Back Again

Chapter 1

Over time, Claire realized something about her traveling companion.

He _had_ to be an only child. Raised as one at least. Sure, she didn't remember whether or not she herself had any siblings to she had to endure, but if there ever was a stereotypical only child, Gabriel had his picture next to the definition.

During the drive, there were two-or three-activities he was interested in. One was his quiet time where he did not want to make a sound and wouldn't listen to the radio. Deep in, or deep end, time where she didn't trust herself not to find a way to test him. Often, she would study him during that time the most; it said volumes more than the rapid-fire phase of talking. The similarity between the two times was that she was quiet during both.

The third time was during the night (or day-morning and afternoon) when he would take her.

Claire couldn't say she disliked that time. Not honestly. But it seemed all too easy to dislike herself.

&&&

"Do you want anything?" Gabriel asked. Small change was littered all over the console. It had been a team effort to gather that much on their way to New York City. She had been the one to look under the seats and pick through the lint and dust for every pretty penny.

"I'll know when I get inside," she replied. He looked up at her, his eyes darkening. "You might choose the wrong stuff. You don't know what I like."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," he said, in _that_ voice, but it was clear. She wasn't going to be able to get out of the freaking car at a gas station. "You're a wanted woman, Claire. You need to keep your head down."

She felt herself go all twisted cold inside. "Oh, please. I know. I'll get a dye kit while I'm in there."

"That's cute. No."

"Uh, wanted woman? If I'm going to play the part, I might as well have fun."

He tilted his head, and she felt him shift through all his dirty mental pictures of her. She shuddered. "You're a blond at your best. It's your essence. So, until I make you a redhead, you're a blond."

Red…what? He smiled and prepared to lock her in the car again. "Please. I'm asking nicely. I'll be totally quiet the rest of the way to New York."

He considered it, tapping the steering wheel. "With that kind of temptation, how can I say no?"

Yes. Claire hurried out of the car, feeling very much like she had sea-legs. The air was warm and nice and full of vibrant wholeness, and she couldn't help but beam. He walked around the car as if he wasn't bothered at all from being in a hot car for days. But he certainly wasn't together. His hair had a life of its own, so much so that it required its own word. It was…foofy.

"_What?_" Gabriel asked, sharply.

"Nothing," she said, looking away. As charming as ever. Another thing about him was he was always looked for the hidden knife to every…well, everything. Inside the convenience store, the air was cool, and it made her feel rather normal. There were baskets by the wall. …Baskets.

"My, aren't you easy to please," he sneered, looking down his nose at the whole place.

_Oh, don't be so hard on yourself_, she thought but didn't say. She found herself less willing to shoot him down. There was something intrinsically ignoble about it. Instead, she focused on the good, exciting process of being normal. Of picking up totally unhealthy foods and looking through horrible magazines to laugh at them.

He sauntered in, following closely behind her (with the grace of a natural-born skulker turned dare-devil and _knowing _it).

"Oh my god, I have to have that," she said, opening the freezer door and taking several litters of diet coke—nevermind, just coke. What was there to lose?

"Wait, I'm not going to rob this place for you," he protested, hands shoved in the pockets on his coat.

An employee glared at him from the next isle over, wherein Gabriel returned the look with a weird, weird curling smile that even creeped her out, and she'd been with the man for weeks.

"Kidding! He's just kidding around," she said, all sunshine with thunderheads underneath. "Just a big prankster, this guy."

She dumped the basket into his un-waiting arms, and yes, he had to actually act normal to be able to juggle it.

"What's your favorite food?" she asked, determined to distract him from the poor man. It was hard with her heart pounding out of her chest.

"I don't have one."

"That's impossible." Hopefully the cheerful, happy-days thing wasn't too overboard. "Everybody has a favorite food. Something they splurge on. I think I have a clue, too."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I've seen you eat French fries. They have salt. Hence, you like salty foods. With grease on the side. Hah."

"So you've been paying attention to what I do with my mouth."

The employee now gaped and looked her up and down, and she hated Gabriel just a little. Or more. It wasn't much as it should be since she had grown accustomed to him. She had adapted.

But she was getting pretty tired of the whole object thing. The I'm-not-a-real-girl feeling that hung on her shoulders. It seemed like he had to remind her exactly what she was to him, and to others, all illusions cast aside.

"Come on. Let's just get some stuff and get out of here."

"Your wish…"

She started to grab some snacks of some sort, and he did prove himself helpful in picking a few things himself.

"You're very good at playing domestic."

She was silent and continued her purge of the shelves.

"Peanuts? So I won't forget? You know I have an eidetic memory."

At her look, he sighed. "Elephants never forget? Logic, Claire. Use it and make some connections some time."

"I'm not going to joke around with you. Let's just go."

"Oh, the way he looked at you, eating you up with his eyes," Gabriel muttered, tilting his head. She must be transparent. "That's why I'm staying so close to you. No reason for another incident, right."

"What?" she asked, exasperated. When she didn't want to talk, interact, or recognize the fact that he was alive, all he wanted to do was talk to her.

"It's just I notice that you are afraid of men to a degree. Just a little bit. It's in the way you stiffen when a man, like that one, looks at you. You shrink within yourself, sometimes. It's _off_, and I can't help but notice. And trust me, they notice, too."

"Now, who on earth would make me afraid of strange men? Hmm…"

"What happened in that area was before me. Whatever it was," he said. "Though I suppose I didn't help the matter."

He stared around, and focused on something near the cashier's desk. She wasn't even paying attention to the things she threw in the basket. Hopefully they would give him a heart-attack or something.

"Claire, I know you're sulking, but during the next few minutes, I need you to remain calm and quiet."

She looked up at him, surprised.

"EVERYONE, DOWN ON THE FLOOR!"

She froze, and then turned around to see that the little store they had stopped at was being robbed by three men in ski masks. Seriously.

"IF EVERYONE STAYS COOL, NO ONE HAS TO DIE. NICE AND SLOW AND COOL, COOL?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. She almost laughed. The she realized that everyone else was on the floor, shaking, and felt guilty. She couldn't get hurt, and he—well, he wasn't about to be in any danger. She tried to figure out what to do. One man already had a gun to the cashier's head. If she moved, at all, he could shoot. Accidentally or not, the end result would be the same.

It was terrible. The older man kept trying to open the register but failed on several tries, fumbling and apologizing brokenly.

"Now these I like," Gabriel commented and picked up a box of Milk Duds. They were spotted.

"HEY, YOU AND BARBIE GET THE FUCK ON THE FLOOR."

Claire flinched. She was invincible but not inhuman. She hadn't unlearned the ground-falling-out-from-underneath-her-feet sensation in reaction to a gun pointed in her general direction. Though to be fair, the gun was more accurately pointed at Gabriel's head.

"Oh, I don't think so," he replied, then paused. "For that to work, you'll want the safety off."

"WHAT THE HELL DID HE SAY?" the other guy said from the next aisle.

"Nothing, nothing." Robber number three muttered, hurriedly fixing his mistake. "DOWN ON THE FLOOR BEFORE I PUT YOU SIX FEET UNDER IT!"

"You first."

She had thought it was terrible before. Of course she should have known better. People were watching, holding on to their sanity as it were life itself. So he performed a little. She could tell he was using his powers but to others, they were clueless. All they saw was that Gabriel knocked the gun aside a little too easily, that the man lost his grip a little too easily, and that Gabriel pushed him back a little too lightly. It was more of a shove than a push. Only the guy went sailing through the air and hit the countertop, slumping, _crumpling_ to the floor like a broken doll. He had hit the cold metal too hard.

"Oh my god!" she screamed out, knowing, just knowing the man had be dead. He had to be; she heard the crack from all the way over-

Then there was a gun barrel pressed to the back of her head and an arm looped around her neck, choking off her air.

"Back off if you don't want her brains all over your shirt."

Gabriel smiled. "You're not going to do anything. You haven't killed before. I can tell…You really should have practiced beforehand. Do you want to know how I can tell?"

From the way his hands were shaking, Claire didn't think the guy was kidding around. He would shoot her by accident, most likely. She didn't think she would survive it, either. Something inside of her knew it.

"I can't…If he fires, I will die," she informed him, as she definitely felt that info was on a need-to-know basis.

"Why, who wouldn't?" her great protector asked, feigning wide-eyed shock.

"Gabriel, I'm serious."

"So am I. Listen to her, man," the robber urged.

"Go ahead," he offered. "Fire away." To her horror, he took a step closer. And another. She was drug backwards, and she tried to dig her heels on the linoleum but it was like ice. Everything seemed like ice, cold and remote, and she was going to be killed.

"Actually, please do. I was getting tired of her. Did you know I was going to kill her myself in the long run? This makes everything so much easier. And I have been wondering what the inside of her head would look like."

"Just shoot her," his only other conscious friend advised at the register. "Then shoot him in the face. He's asking for it."

"Oh no. I'm begging for it." She closed her eyes not to see him like this, when everything that was so wrong in him was illuminated to the point of the grotesque.

"Shit, he's crazy." Definite understatement, there.

"Kill them, now!"

She _felt_ him pull the trigger and she screamed. The gun went off, and she fell forward, clutching at the back of her head. It was red; there was so much blood. But not as much from her end as the robber's. The gun had backfired in his hand, and what was left of his hand left him screaming.

Looking up at him from the floor, seeing him so much pain, Claire did not feel triumph. Just irreplaceable guilt. The front door slammed, and she saw the last one who was intact running across the parking lot.

"You might want to get his license plate number," Gabriel called casually to the cashier.

"R-right!"

He offered her his hand. Of all things, in the following calm, that broke her nerves. She pushed it away. He looked at her strangely, as if he were confused by her reaction. As if!

"I'm going to die," the man whispered to no one in particular, withering on the floor and sobbing.

"No, you're not," she said, kneeling by him. "Help will be here any minute."

She was jerked up by the collar of her shirt.

"You've got to be _kidding_." He seemed beyond rage, his face lit up as if he was consumed. "I—this…"

Then he smiled.

"We'll talk about this in the car."

&&&

"You know, we technically just robbed that place," Claire said, after some silence, looking down at the plastic bag of food in her lap.

"I know. I'd say they owed us. That is precisely about the worth of their lives."

"I didn't think you were a thief, as well."

"The irony was too tempting," he said, sullen and brooding. It was as if she had just broken his new toy. If she thought about it, it was his first time playing anything remotely heroic. Maybe he had enjoyed the act and was upset that someone ruined the magic. Who knew?

"…If you hadn't killed one of those guys, I would be apologizing. Just so you know."

"Wrong. Both were alive. One more so than the other but alive."

"Oh. But still, I figure you probably paralyzed him for life. You did, didn't you?"

His grip tightened on the steering-wheel. Claire watched his hands, the tick of muscles and ligaments running underneath. She had learned that kind of observation from him, since she had seen her own hand in detail several times.

"I don't see how that matters. He won't be going on a trip around the world any time soon."

"Was it an accident? Did you mean to do it, or did it just happen?"

"Think about what you just said," he growled out. "And try to understand it."

"Did you have that intent?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Then why don't you answer my question?"

"I wasn't thinking on it, alright."

She paused, and nodded. "I see. Well, he may be fine."

"I'm so _glad_," he said with a smirk. "The other one had a choice. If he hadn't fired, he wouldn't have lost his hand. And no one had a gun to his head, right."

Well, right. Still wrong, but for him, almost nearly right. Her own hands seemed so small and completely useless. She picked at the loose threads gathering at the bottom of her shirt nervously. "You know, what you did back there…despite how you did it, it was…it was a good thing to do."

"It was the only thing to do, Claire, and don't play that game with me."

"_What_?"

"That's so predictable that I'm almost disappointed in you. Before you try, other people have played it far better than you ever will."

She laughed. "Don't worry; I know you're still horrible. It was a comment, that's all."

"You promised to be quiet after you got your food. There's your food."

"Can I ask you something?" she inquires, almost shyly. This was going to be such a loaded question, and a part of her screamed at the rest to cease, stop, desist. However, her interest in him was similar to a moth's interest in light; there was no helping it. Only the truth of it, perhaps, is in her blood. Her healing blood. Maybe she had to try and figure out why he was so...sick. Horrible as it is, that he gives of an aura of nearly chemical sickness, of offness, she finds herself wanting to help and knowing it is futile to try. She could try and spin his actions into something good, only to end up at the same dead-end.

"I'm really enjoying this example of complete silence."

"After this, I'll be practically invisible."

"So you'll be loud and transparent at the same time. Great. Puts a whole new spin on the word 'airhead'".

"It's a hypothetical question," she continues, ignoring him. "Let's say you have a kid and they have an ability. Would you still…take their ability?"

"Depends," he answered, without even missing a beat. "On both their ability and how they use it. If it's something I don't have already, there's no choice. On the other hand, if I have it but they still use it against me, I'll have to adapt, which will most likely involve stopping them permanently."

"And if they have your ability but don't do a thing to you?"

"No choice there, either. I know better than to allow that," Gabriel said, half-smiling at the wisdom of his reply. "On the other hand, they may also be unremarkable, boring. So I'm not planning on the pitter-patter of little feet anytime in any future. After all, within a few months, I'll be my own legacy. With your help."

She took a moment to digest that, wringing her hands in her lap.

"Let me guess. You were planning on being in the family way, so I won't take your ability. I'd naturally think of the little children, especially my own…was that your plan, right, to hide behind the unborn pound of flesh?"

"No!" she stated, crossing her arms and glaring. "I'd never have anything of yours!"

"Oh really?"

"Look, I was just freaking concerned because you're the one who's been coming on to me. So I don't know, I thought you were trying to..."

"You're not pregnant. I would know."

God, she was nervous. He was making her just sick. She pulled out the Twizzlers from the plastic bag, and threw it on the car seat, littering to annoy him, put a little bent in his precious, ordered world.

There was nothing really lining the roads, no signs of life. Open space, tons of it. If only she didn't feel like she was under a microscope, like something interesting, life-like-yet- not floating in a drop of water.

"Was that a dream of yours? To become a mother and have a nice little house with the picket fence, the apron, the whole works?"

"I'm trying to be quiet now. Starting right now. Besides I wouldn't remember."

"Well, you questioned my paternal instinct. That's all it is, instinct. You don't have to remember to know."

"I think I would have made an okay mom," she said, realizing for the first time since she'd been with Gabriel that she was going to lose so much that she could have had. Children, maybe not, but she hadn't graduated. Hell, she suspected that she hadn't even got the choice to drop out voluntarily.

"Sure, I can see that," he agreed. She was surprised, and to her shame, it showed. "Though you do realize that when the kid's sixteen, you'll still physically be her age. That can warp a kid."

She grinned sweetly. "And I know how that concerns you so much."

"Not as much as it will warp you," he pointed out, continuing on as mercilessly as the sun on beached bones. "You'll have to bury her, then her kid, and then the next. See them hurt; blown up by nuclear bombs, torn apart by sickness and pain and the world. Something you can't relate to, and even blood isn't thick enough to drown the resentment of your _loved_ ones. Who knows, maybe I'll even kill a few if they are up to my particular taste. On the bright side, you will own the market on cemeteries."

"You're an asshole," she spat out.

"But at least I'm a practical asshole. That little idyllic fairytale was never going to happen. Even if you survive, it's better for you to know now than learn the hard way. Do you think your body would give an inch for a child? That's one of your many flaws. I can tell you now that you're broken in that way. No happy grandchildren for grandparents, no-"

"Stop it." Her voice caught to her horror. No wonder he hadn't been worried when he… "You've completely, completely ruined…that for me, congratulations. Mission accomplished."

"Turnabout is fair play, Claire."

"Oh, that was necessary just because I asked a question about your precious world view? That is hardly the same thing. At all."

"You know, when I have your ability, that little handicap won't be a problem for me. Maybe I will try the father thing. For fun."

"Biologically, sure, you're the father of the year. In all those other ways, like emotionally, mentally, you're not even equipped. You wouldn't know what to _do_."

Her throat was crushed. Rather like a soda can of some sort, she thought, as she gasped and tried to breathe, and suffocated perhaps two times. She caught herself, put a hand up to her mouth to hold everything in, hold it all in, and it took awhile for her to recover from that. The whole time, she looked at the keyhole on the dashboard, not at his face, or his eyes. His eyes, especially, dark and barren and electric.

She lowered her head once she could breathe again. She looked down, her neck showing through her parted, golden hair.

Underneath all the words, the only true language that existed between them was building blocks of everything primal, and she yielded.

&&&

It made sense that they stopped in the middle of nowhere after that chaotic day.

It was dark, cold, with trees surrounding them like an audience. He seemed to like performing, after all. She wasn't speaking to him, and he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he didn't seem to want to touch her at all.

Claire watched as he reclined in the front seat, ignoring her with practiced ease. Ghost-girl, that was her. She lay down across the backseat and stretched out, sighing. It would be forever before they reached New York. There, maybe someone would help her, would remember who she was.

"For what it's worth, I did think what you did was cool."

Nothing. She closed her eyes. It wasn't until two hours later when she halfway woke up and saw a shadow pass in front of the window of the car.

"…um," she whispered, blinking.

"I know. I've been watching them."

Claire sat up slowly, looking out at the trees which were now full of lights. Figures were traveling among the trees in pairs, in what seemed like…cloaks. This was some kind of gathering.

"What are they doing?" she asked.

"Something's going on," he responded, carefully. "Something…I could really wrap my mind around."

He looked ecstatic and on the edge all at once. She had never seen him more open, more vulnerably into something outside of himself. She followed his gaze and noticed the moonlit sky, and the breaks in-between. The sky was _changing_. Clouds were forming at unnatural pace, as if someone had left the VCR on fast-forward. It was like watching an unearthly dance, and it was _beautiful._

"Yes, I think this is worth looking into."

She got out of the car and Gabriel followed, looking at her curiously. "I don't want to be left alone with all these weirdoes out here. You know we won't be welcomed to their clubhouse with open arms."

"That's all right. There's a universal password that I know."

She could guess what it was. She was horrified, but that only meant she had to go with him. To try to keep him under control.

"After you," he said, and they walked slowly behind the group towards the center of the clearing. She imagined all the freaky things that could be happening, bracing herself for something unbelievable.

However, nothing could have prepared her for what was in the middle of the clearing. Out of everything she had been through recently, it was only all too believable.

&&&

Credits: All the 'cool' sayings of the robber in a tense situation was a semi-shout out to _Pulp Fiction_.

The safety on/off comment is paraphrased from something the main villain said in 'Storm of the Century'.

Concrit is perfectly fine and welcomed.


	2. Chapter 2

Same disclaimer as before. It still applies :-).

Chapter 2

It was ironic. But it couldn't be helped.

Claire clung to her kidnapper because out of all of the people there, he was the most normal one there. She watched through the trees as they came in droves, people in long clothes and dark robes, and felt very unreal.

"I have such a bad feeling about this," she whispered, crossing her arms in front of her to hold in her fear.

"You're psychic too?" he muttered. "You should have mentioned that."

"It's plain, common sense. I stand out. You fit in, you're in all black, but I'm in a pink coat here."

"It's not as if they can hurt you."

She started and looked up at him, surprised. "That's right, isn't it? Huh."

"You do realize what this is," Gabriel said, walking close to her and brushing a spare bit of hair out of her face. It was as if they were co-conspirators or something, but that wasn't how things were between them. Claire was more or less the captive audience. However, with the sky changing and twisting above them, it was hard not to be just that—captivated.

"Well, yeah. I have a pretty good idea."

"Guess what they worship."

"…Someone like you and me."

He nodded, and she saw more darkness in him than the night or the cloaks. They were play-pretending. Ironically, they had indeed welcomed something in their midst.

"You're going to do whatever it is you do, aren't you?" she whispered, afraid. The inclusiveness vanished, and he grabbed the collar of her jacket and tightened it.

"If it bothers you so much, you could always try and stop me," he offered with a smile. She shrugged him off, feeling smaller than ever. "There, you see? I knew you'd prove me right."

She looked at her feet, and he resumed the more casual position of looping an arm around her shoulders. She wondered if it was out of possessiveness alone, or if she was a shield for any unexpected surprises.

The trail ran out, and he led her over to a small corner of the procession. In a way, they were lucky. Others were apparently new at this gathering, and looked around, frightened. Were they here against their will, Claire wondered. A small-town nightmare, but she was curious as to how this had stayed hidden for so long.

The sky was almost literally falling on their heads. Someone should have kinda noticed by now.

There was stillness in the air as they all waited for something. She shifted from side to side and he tightened his grip. She was about to cough obnoxiously until there was a horrible crash of thunder, and lightening—

It was a moment of utter chaos for anyone who was unprepared for the arc of lightening that hit the ground in the midst of the crowd, making the air sizzle and burn with an energy. Moreover, it hit the ground perilously close to them, in particular. It was nearly blinding, and there was a second of suspended disbelief for her.

For him, there was something entirely different. Oh, it surprised him, and she felt him flinch underneath his clothes. And that was very, very bad. From the most rudimentary understanding she had of this man, he didn't like to be…outdone? Surprised? Weak? It was bad news for her because she had felt it, had caught that moment unintentionally. Moreover, the person on the other side of it was going to be in for hell. It would be similar to running up to a beehive and hitting it with your open palm to see what happened.

He glared down at her, in this moment, as if daring her to say anything. She didn't, perhaps more out of being stunned than any wisdom or self-preservation. Then, as if given a secret sign of some sort, several people in cloaks fell to the ground like dominoes. On their knees, heads on the ground, and unfortunately from her view, butts in the air.

No.

"Uh, I'm not doing that," she hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

"Like I am," he snapped back.

"Welcome," someone said softly, and in the middle of the clearing, there was a woman…quite suddenly so as if she had sprung out of the ground. She was fairly pretty, in Claire's opinion, with dark hair and deep, blue eyes. The only drawback was that she was green.

"I hope that's paint," she whispered. He pinched her. But for many good reasons, she didn't mind because her attention was fixed on the bizarre—absolutely, bizarre—sight in front of her. Then she realized what the green was covering up.

The woman had no clothes on.

"Ookkay," she muttered, and got pinched harder.

"I've been waiting. For each and every one of you."

God, she hoped not. This was terrible. The woman was about to get murdered, and she was having her fair share of amusement. Then two of the crowd brought what appeared to be a throne up front, all the while, groaning under its weight. Claire smiled at the ground, trying desperately hard not to laugh. It didn't help when Gabriel added his own undertone of agreement that she caught under his whisper.

"You won't have to wait much longer." Sneer, smirk. She stared up at him, and wondered vaguely if he would be fried before he got close.

"I confess disappointment, however. Some of you have been slacking." There was a pointed, ominous silence. "Your fellows have brought great suffering upon your heads. How many have died, since our last meeting?"

Claire looked up, surprised. "The little girl needn't have died, you know. It was only a few inches of rain a day where I kept her. But eventually, time ran out, and clearly, her parents truly didn't care to part with a few trifles for her life."

She cast another look at Gabriel, and saw he only cared about the how rather than the what. How to cause the rain regardless….well, regardless.

"I take no pleasure in that, you know. And you do know…I only wish to guide you. These powers came to me for a reason, and one reason alone. I am the vessel. I am the key to any hope of your salvation."

Now—of course—he looked as if he disagreed. Everyone else in this little freak festival seemed eager to nod, and agree, and Claire almost started laughing at them all. A dark, red anger started to build up in her chest.

"I am the one who could possibly transcend to the purest of states. And I need payment in blood from you, who I allow to exist on these lands."

"What the hell?" she whispered, and remained un-pinched. "You know…you should go up there, and show her up for the fake liar she is."

"You'd want me to?" he asked, slyly. "Because if you think that's a good idea…"

"No!" she said, quickly, remembering who she was talking to. "I don't! I think-."

"Or you could do something," he offered, looking curiously at her. "These people would be amazed by anything, no matter how one-note it truly is."

She paused, eyes wide. Unexpected yet true. Very true. She could but at the same time, didn't think she was capable of…well, whoever she had been before did not like the wrong kind of attention. Even now, the suggestion made her more than a little queasy.

"Bring out the sacrifice!"

Claire froze, disbelieving, as they pulled a thirty-year old, scared woman out from behind the tree where Big Green lounged. She could tell by the way the woman was looking at the faces around her that these were her friends, neighbors, and perhaps even family. And they were about to…

"I hate to do this," Big Green announced, standing up to her full height. "But what you fail to offer me in payment translates into blood. Does anyone disagree? Does anyone want to step up and simply do the right thing?"

"Y-you ask too much," said one of the uncloaked people there. "There's no way we can possibly give you what you asked by the end of the month!"

"Well, then, I'll take it now."

"The hell you will!" Claire called out, without thinking. Gabriel tensed and looked down at her for the first time during this show started. "You're not the only one who's special around here, lady. In fact, it's pretty much commonplace."

Unfortunately, she had everyone's attention.

"It's true," Gabriel said, sounding resigned. She spun around in shock. "The girl, she's…well, why don't you show them, Claire? There's no point in hiding what you really are among those with such…open minds." He pushed her forward and stepped back, looking so fake-humble it was appalling.

What was his game?

"Well?" the woman hissed, bringing her back to earth.

"Fine. I'll-er, I'll need a knife. Anything sharp." She hesitated.

"Break a leg," he whispered, and smiled a truly grotesque smile. She walked quickly to the front of the circle, if only to put some distance between him and her, feeling bolder due to the crowd.

"Go on," Big Green said to her confused followers. "Someone _let_ her have it."

A man, a big man, jumped to his feet, and drew a large knife out of his belt. And she saw to her horror it had been used before. He rushed towards her, and she didn't run, but held her arms out to the side, welcoming it. After a second's hesitation, due to her passivity to his attack, he stabbed her.

In the stomach. She went down hard, falling on her back. That was embarrassing…but she struggled back to her feet and wiped the dirt and grime over her jeans. Everyone stared. She smiled and pulled the knife out of her stomach.

"…That was my favorite shirt," she muttered, wiping at the growing stains.

Then— they drew back, a few running, and several screaming. Big Green's eyes bulged, and she shifted away, jumping off her make-shift thrown. But only for a moment.

"A healer," she replied, and threw any excuses of obtuseness out the window at the same time.

"And you'd be what—a weather girl?" Claire replied, smirking. "Are you going to make a little rain to throw at me?"

And thunder. And lightening.

"It's rare that another comes around. I've killed all the others before you." Calmly. "The implications of this is…where is your friend?"

She looked and saw an empty space through the row of strangers. Gabriel was gone.

"He doesn't matter," Claire said, spitefully, but wondered what she was going to do. Was she left in the spot to kill this woman? "I'm going to give you a warning. Back off, now, while you still can."

'Or you'll what?' was the natural answer.

"Of course," Big Green said. "I'll back off. They, on the other hand…"

In a way, they were innocent people. Stupid people, but innocent, maybe through ignorance alone. But at her command, they rose as one, and ran at her, men, women, and a few kids who were probably younger than she was. Mostly she caught glimpses, flashes on knives, and knew—in a horrible instant when you see the oncoming car before it was too late to turn the wheel—that she was in over her head.

She backed away, and then broke into a run. She swerved past the open fire—not eager for the witch-burning treatment—and by then, two had already caught up with her. One—a man for sure—pulled her arm back, and another in a wretched mask of red and gold raised a knife over his head and stabbed her.

This time it was in the neck, and she gasped. And she was stabbed again, and again. Oh god, they were going to cut her into pieces, oh my god, they were going to get more creative... There were footfalls all around her, and in a minute, a moment, a second…

_Break a leg. _

In a flash of inspiration, she got it. She was still operating under set rules that she was vulnerable. It was worth a try at least. She jerked away from the man holding her arms back, and felt her left arm break. Fine, she didn't need it to grab the blade of the knife above her.

It went through her hand, and she grasped it, tearing it away from the lady who had been hacking away at her in a very un-lady-like manner. Then, she brought up her leg and kicked. She got the horrible bitch in the neck, and felt justified when the woman went down hard, gasping for breath.

"That doesn't work on me," she growled, and with an inner grimace, swiftly turned with the knife to…

It was still in her hand, and for some reason, it made her aim very good. Lucky for the guy, since she was aiming for the shoulder.

The others in the lynch mob slowed down, and branched out, circling her. This was ridiculous. Where was he?!

Her arm clicked together, apparently ready to be broken again. "Come on, then. Whatever. Nothing you could possibly do will stop me, and if you force me, I--."

Claire was cut off in mid-speech, as a bolt of lightening…struck her dead in the chest. It was possibly the most surreal experience she had had, even including the forgotten gaps in her head. As she felt her heart stop, she spiraled into unconsciousness, feeling herself hit the ground, throwing leaves up in the air, and being utterly…

Pathetic.

She tried to open her eyes, and realized that this was more trouble than usual. Her eyes felt burnt. Singed. She choked down revulsion, and forced them open with her fingertips. Something scratched her face.

A knife was still enclosed in an otherwise perfectly healed hand. It was like one of those fake weapons they sell for Halloween. Trick or Treat kind of, and she really did feel like Frankenstein's monster. Her hair, for one…she smelt something burnt, cooked, and though her body was fine now, was thoroughly grossed out by herself.

She managed to open one eye, and wished she hadn't been able to.

He was sitting on Big Green's forgotten throne, as if he were predictably a king. King of what, king of where, was the real story. There were…horribly, twisted things all around her, like bad, stick figure drawings sketched by a shaking hand.

Equally cooked, and for them, it stuck.

"Oh god," she choked out, sitting up and staring…and remembering something. Before she was killed again, he had been Gabriel. Now, there was a new name in front of him, something…with an S…something important, and she was nearly there, on the threshold of remembering him as he was.

"I know what it looks like," he began. "And it is exactly how it looks."

She stared at him.

"They say lightening never strikes the same place twice. Turns out, that's not entirely true."

"I…don't understand. They were innocent. Stupid, yes, but just..."

"Sure they were. Interesting…interesting you'd assume I'd do a thing like this. I hate barbecue. For the record."

"You mean she did it. And she's dead. So…"

"It was a twitch. One last, little twitch. Her aim was off by a few feet, give or take. When tampered with. I'll give her that, she had improved slightly."

"Seems to me she was very accurate." There was a hole in her shirt. Damn. "And the girl? The one they were going to sacrifice?"

He motioned behind him, and Claire saw the woman was alive, unconscious…. she hoped.

"So you didn't do this? You really didn't?"

"What does it matter? You'll think I did, anyway. To me, it'd be like killing ants with a magnifying glass. Absolutely pointless. A child trying to be god with tools from Office Depot. So figure it out, Claire, and believe what you want."

He paused, sitting back and looking at the sky, thoughtfully as if something burning deep inside of him was cooling down, winding back. She noticed there were clouds again, boiling over her head like smoke, only it was a thicker, softer type of cloud. It made her remember something, an essence, off a holiday card.

"You weren't half bad yourself. But not nearly good enough. You had the natural advantage. What happened?"

"Uh, I was fried. It's not the easiest thing to get back up from."

"Then I guess that means you're reaching the end of your limits. If it was perfect, your ability, you could stand any attack and still function."

"Well, excuse me," she mumbled, and moved towards the still figure in the clearing. Only to steer towards him, drawn and pushed like a horse in a carriage, with him absolutely lounging in that chair.

She drew closer, and he took her hand, admiring the knife embedded in her skin. "So _this_ is as good as it gets for you."

Then he rubbed the edge of her wound with his fingers, studying it, and appreciating it fully. It was almost gentle, almost loving. But not for her, as a person, but as a part. For an ability that just happened to be embedded into her by chance.

"You...uh, didn't help me."

He looked up in surprise. "You're a big girl, Claire. I thought you could handle it yourself."

Thn he returned abruptly to his study. She found herself strangely pleased to such an extent that she was embarrassed.

To change the subject, Claire focused on the surroundings with a question in her mind. "Why would they worship her, I wonder? She wasn't the type of person I'd follow, that's for sure."

"Oh, look around this dustbowl," he said, and with his glare, the knife came out of her hand with a sick pop, and she flinched. "For miles around, there was nothing. But here, they've made a killing on their little farms. All because of her. This knife for instance? It's expensive. You don't find this type of metalwork just anywhere. Fascinating, isn't it?"

"Is it? I don't think so."

"All those old stories about gods. All those myths and legends were most likely about us, all leading up to one. Anyway, about you…"

Claire waited. "The little heroine of the story. What now?"

She blinked, surprised. "…I guess we need to get that woman to a hospital."

"Because the nearest hospital, with the constant demand for equipment, would have nothing to do with this fiasco at all. Right."

"Then what? We can't just leave her here."

There was a sound of the rustling of grass, and Claire saw the woman was stirring.

"I won't be stuck with bring her along, but …I wonder if there was more than one special here. And what better way to draw them out."

He got up, pushing her aside, and she was dismissed, she guessed. Only she wasn't going to let that happen. So she walked quickly behind him, and saw him change. In an intangible way, something that spoke of the unreality of people, of maybe even herself…

In a moment, he was someone else, and when he knelt by the hurt woman, he was all kindness.

"Hey there. Don't try to get up too quickly," he muttered, putting a hand on her shoulder. To Claire's satisfaction, the woman flinched, and began to back way—well, as well as she could in her condition. Then she figured out the lady had her brown eyes trained on her.

"She's harmless. Perfectly tame," he offered. "She works for me."

Claire felt a strong desire to kick him in the head, but restrained herself. Just Barely. Death wishes or not, she was growing sicker of this by the moment.

"W-what is all this?! What happened to…" She looked around, noticing what exactly had happened, and seemed about to burst into hysterics.

"It was unavoidable. Before we could neutralize her, it was too late. I know you've been through a lot tonight, but we need to move you to a safe place. Can you stand up?"

"I…I think so, I think…" The woman stuttered, trying and nearly falling before he caught her. The look of slavish gratitude on her face bothered Claire immensely. How unreal. How disgustingly messed up.

"It's okay, don't rush it. We've still got time, and you're safe now. Claire, go get the car and bring it closer for our friend here, okay?"

He threw her the keys and she caught them, scowling. Halfway down the trail, she heard him practically cooing at the lady, like a child finding a new pet he liked. This was going to end badly.

On her way back to the car, it had begun to snow.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes.

* * *

As she watched Gabriel being totally fake-nice, Claire began to wonder how far off the grid they were.

Off the grid of society, or moreover, off the grid.

Big Green had been the prime example of what happened when a person stepped completely out of the box to find out that they were fundamentally hollow.

If there was a Company, she understood it. She empathized with its possible purpose. And she couldn't help but wonder, that if she made it out of this alive, maybe she could see what the Company was really about.

"Don't worry, I won't let you go." She heard him whisper to the shivering woman. Again, slavish gratitude. What a shame she didn't seem to realize he meant what he said completely.

They were illuminated in the headlights, and the snow was getting ridiculous, covering their shoulders already. She sat rigid in the seat, fuming and gripping the steering wheel tightly. Basically, she had been told to fetch, and she wasn't going to be his messenger or stupid side-kick.

"Thank you, thank you so much. I was so afraid." Something was wrong. The woman's voice was slurring, and Claire frowned and rolled down the window.

"Hey, is she going into shock?" she called out and the woman flinched as though she'd been shot. He gave her a glare that seemed to say she was the most unhelpful person on the planet and ignored her. "Well, not _yet_."

"I'm fine, really," the woman answered. Oh, she so wasn't, Claire thought.

"Aren't you brave?"

Barf, she thought. He gently put her in the backseat of the car and smoothed her bangs out of her face. Claire watched all this carefully in the rearview mirror, taking it in small doses, and found a bit of longing.

This was normal, of course. It was longing for something normal that she could not remember having. But then again, to get that, you'd have to actually to find someone to trust not to throw you in the gutter without warning.

He knocked on the window, and she jumped.

"You can keep her calm, can't you?"

"Yeah, no problem." Though she didn't see why that mattered to him. It pissed her off so badly that she could hardly talk.

"You're going to leave me alone with her?" the woman squeaked, and Claire held her hand to her forehead and sighed.

"Only for a few minutes. I'm right within shouting distance."

"It's not like I'm going to cut your head open, lady," she called back sweetly. "Unlike some people."

The woman blanched.

"Please, please, don't leave me with her!"

That tore it. "GET OVER YOURSELF!" she shouted, losing her temper. Losing herself. She nearly blanked out, for one moment, in rage and hurt at being the odd one out of this situation. She wasn't the stupid victim and she wasn't a serial killer, for god's sake. .

So she reached into the backseat to…she didn't know what because she didn't find out. He stopped her with invisible hands on her wrists.

"Easy there, tiger," he said, laughing. He made a face at the cowering woman, rolling his eyes, and indicated, with a circle motion around his ear, the universal signal that there was a crazy person in front of them. "I think I better take you with me."

He pulled her out of the car with those invisible, invasive hands, and she struggled, making the lady in the backseat nearly insane with fear.

"Let you think things over," he whispered into her ear. "Sorry, I apologize for little Claire here. She's slightly insane. Bad upbringing."

Claire struggled against nothing, and kicked out at him, missing his kneecap by inches. He, then, actually petted her, running a hand across her strewn hair.

That made her stop. Being dehumanized tended to do that to people.

* * *

"Knock it off with the crazy spiel. Speak for yourself, honestly."

"Of course, it's not like you'd ever do anything irrational. Like ripping a woman's eyes out in the backseat of the car."

"I was not going to rip anyone's eyes out. Okay, maybe, I was going to slap her. That was it. It's hardly…"

Gabriel watched her, his eyes taking on a curious expression. "When you're angry, your mouth makes the most…unusual impression. You have such an angelic face, then this monster comes out. I think I like it."

She counted to ten. "Yeah right. Monsters don't give love pats, they tear people's heads off. As you know. I mean, a nothing slap is hardly enough to qualify as irrational. Besides, she was being unreasonable."

Without warning, he...uh, he sparked. A kind of electrical current or something running down his arms. She backed away quickly, completely distracted.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Fine, fine," he said, waving her concern away. "Just tired."

"I'm not surprised. You don't sleep."

"Don't change the subject. You're sulking because the new pet liked me better."

Claire was appalled. "She's been through a trauma. And it's not a popularity contest."

She had another wave of deja-vu threaten to take her under, to drag her across the sharp edges of a shell of a life. Why was it like that? That her old life was sharp, cross, and seemingly full of danger. Compared to this, it should have felt like heaven.

"You know," she continued. "I think we should move on. Let this go. This Company, they'd be on their way. I'm sure massive storms appearing out of nowhere will catch their attention."

"I'm counting on that. They like setting traps. That's all they know, the outside of one. How to build the maze, the rat trap, and the pretty picture it makes. They don't know about the inner mechanics of actually being in the trap. And they won't be able to escape even if their worthless lives depend on it. They think they're smarter, better than us. Special in their normalcy."

She nodded, unsurprised; human nature and all those old platitudes. However, special or not, normal or not, didn't change the fact that people were dying all around her now with alarming frequency. She scuffed her shoes loudly on the ground. "And your idea of a trail of cheese is a trail of dead bodies."

"I'm cleaning up, aren't I? And don't worry about your trophy back there. She's not my _type_."

And he had a very specific type. She would know.

"Do you have to make it so cold?" Claire asked, deliberately changing the subject, rubbing her arms.

"You call this cold?" he asked, dismissive. "This is nothing. Winter can have much sharper teeth to it."

She was surprised when he reached back and took her hand. Curious about it. Wondering if he thought she'd make a break for it back to the car, or was just trying to keep her from losing her balance on the ice. It would make a nice picture of two people in love walking in the snow. Until she felt the stabbing pain of her hand being frozen solid.

"Now it isn't so bad, right."

She kept her grip out of spite, and yes, felt just a bit of a pull of his skin as he tried and finally managed to get his hand free. He wasn't as cruelly smooth about it as he had intended to be.

"You deserved that," she retorted.

"Maybe you should kiss it and make it better," he mocked. "Or maybe I'll just skip the kisses and go straight for the prize this time. It does hurt, you know."

"What did I ever do to you?" she asked. He raised an eyebrow.

"Besides from just being you, nothing. Nothing important anyway."

"I saw what you did to that woman. It was quick. I mean, you never give anyone an easy death but it wasn't drawn out for weeks. Every day. No. Every hour you remind me in some way that you're going to kill me. It has to be personal. Why?"

"Is this just your precious way of asking 'Why me, cruel world'? Why is it that you're looking a gift horse in the mouth when it can bite your face off?"

The way his mouth curved unsettled her. "Well, it will grow back," she said, going into war mode.

"I've given you something special, and still, you're completely clueless. It's sad, and it's pathetic, and it's annoying me. So it'd be in your best interest to shut up."

"Maybe." What's the fun in that? she thought. There was liberation in the presence of death. Evermore, she wanted to live, but if she couldn't and wouldn't, then she'd control how her last months, hours, moments were going to be spent. "But you didn't answer my question about how I pissed you off in a past life or something."

Gabriel stopped, and turned as if she had said the magic words. It bewildered her and made her afraid when he approached her, as if he had a secret he had wanted to tell for a very long time finally bursting at the seams to get out. As if he always had the answer to give, now if someone had only had the right question... that special question that would turn the lock.

"Funny, how you put it that way," he said, calmly. "It doesn't hurt to tell you this. We really did meet in another life. Lives, actually. Would you believe that I met you in New York before I ever set foot in Texas?"

"I guess?" she questioned, blankly, and hated him for making her feel empty and stupid. She suspected that was most of what his purpose was on this little confidential. "I wouldn't-."

"Know. Of course. Wouldn't you say that you feel reborn? From nothingness, from your lack of memory. It's a total reincarnation of your potential. This is your new life. All that where your memory ends--that was your old life. Now. Now, I'm your life."

A response like 'kinda sad that you have to take other's lives because you never had one, buddy' would have been perfect. But the fact was that his claim was true. It had begun and would end with him.

"I guess that explains why it's been such a spectacular life," she muttered.

He ignored her. "You wouldn't remember. Twice. Because from what I've seen, your father wouldn't have let you have that memory of your trip to New York with him. But you wouldn't have remembered me anyway. As I said, I was imperfect then."

"I seriously doubt that my father, whomever he may be, would have anything to do with _you_."

"Back then, you'd be right. He was there, however, about the people that we would become. I won't pretend to know why he thought it'd be a bright idea to bring you along. Maybe it was the wife's suggestion. A lot of schools were out for holidays. I know, since that's the time of the year when shop windows always get broken and have to be fixed, repeatedly... and maybe the Missus thought it be great if the two of you spent some quality time together. Trust me, I met the woman. The bubbly cliché is her down to the bone."

"My mother...you met her..."

"She's still alive. Anyway, that day, I was standing along the side of the street, _minding my own business," _he added, glaring at her look of suspicion. Claire was finding out that he responded more to her expressions than her words. As cruel and as strange as he was, he was a typical male. "I was just waiting to cross with the herd, when a small, blonde little girl ran past me and into the street. You were almost road-kill."

"I...oh no. Don't tell me," she said, not sold. Not sold at all. "I was almost road-kill until you heroically pulled me from the jaws of death. Am I right?"

"You are," he said simply. "Ironic, isn't it?"

"_You..._ You would not do that. Not in this lifetime. Not in any lifetime."

"I'm hurt, Claire," he said, looking sarcastic, but at the same time, truly angry. He had clearly been saving that delusion for a more reactive audience. He clearly wanted her to be floored, amazed, and awed. "You don't trust me. If you can't trust me, then you can you trust?"

"Just because there's no one else, doesn't mean I trust you."

"I couldn't make that up if I tried. It's too perfect, too interconnected. I-."

"How old were you then?" she interrupted.

"Seventeen. Why?"

"I can't imagine you as..."

"What, a kid?" he asked, laughing. "No, I was never a kid. I was mature for my age. But I did save your life. I pulled you back onto the sidewalk, an inch from being hit myself."

"That's how I know you're lying," she protested.

"I'm not claiming heroics, Claire. That's your word, not mine. It was just a stupid knee-jerk reaction. That's not the point. The point is the pieces fitting together. The point is fate. You're right; usually, maybe I wouldn't have reacted. I also...well, back then, before, I was never...er, well-coordinated. I remember being surprised that I managed to catch you in time. And not every girl runs out into the street. Even three year olds know better nowadays."

"Oh, so that's how you know it was me," she said dryly.

"If I knew you then like I do know, it would have been that particular look of fear in your eyes that would have tipped me off. You always look so puzzled, like it could never happened to you, as if you could make that wall of cars part like the red sea and simply plow into the sidewalk full of people because their drivers couldn't bear to hit you. It's whenever..." he trailed off. "And yet you're as nervous as a cat. I would have recognized you."

"Uh, when you 'saved' me"--she made quotation marks in the air--"did you pull me by the hair?"

Now it was his turn to be puzzled, and he got this out of place deer-in-the-headlights look. "How did you..."

"Because it sounds like you to the bone," she replied, starting to believe his story. She couldn't believe she was actually taking his word for it, but his unrehearsed, openness made it be true. "So vice-versa. I would have recognized you, too."

"I. Doubt. That," he stated, fiercely, and it seemed like story time was over.

"So that's it? You pulled me out of traffic, where I probably wouldn't have been killed."

"Wrong. Your powers weren't working then. I can tell from looking at you. It only really started a few years ago." Then sullenly, after proving her wrong...or did he just need the idea that he had saved her life once to be true? Why would he even care about that?

"Okay. You saved my life...then. And left me on the side of the street?"

He grimaced. "No. I started to take you to the police station, or else, stop a cop and turn you over to him. And the entire time we were walking, you were going on about monsters. A man who came through the wall of the hotel you were staying at. I assume. All I really got was a wall and a man walking through one. Poor little girl thought her father was eaten alive by said monster--no such luck. If kids can technically come close to losing their minds, I'd say you were on the edge of that. I've seen that look before too. You were too hysterical to actually walk. So I detoured to a place I owned once, called the police from there, and tried to stop you from crying so people wouldn't stare at me through the window. Odd thing, though. The police never came. Your father did instead. Doesn't it make sense, now. At the time, I just assumed he was a cop himself."

"Well...considering...if this is true, wasn't I afraid of you? A three-year old would be, nowadays."

"I don't think you were."

"How did you stop me from crying?" she asked.

"I gave you a watch to look at. Nothing big deal. It was one that didn't work. Kids break things. But your father appeared, and ...he was grateful to me. Hell, the man even shook my hand," he said, his eyes wickedly delighted. "Said he owed me. I recognized him even with the glasses when I got the pleasure to renew...his acquaintance, but I was never sure he remembered me from then. He forgot about me."

"Are you sure it wasn't some other girl with some other dad?"

"He never asked how I knew you were his daughter. It's not like he wore a name tag, or was in the mood to introduce himself to me. I just had the ability to remember anything, and I did. Simple. I am so glad that I saved that wonderful ability of yours, too. It would have been such a loss."

"No," Claire said, amazed. "It wasn't on your mind, if that was before...you were actually trying to help, weren't you?"

Gabriel shook his head, never losing his excitement of sharing the secret, but never grasping what it meant about him, or what it would mean to her. For a moment, a brief sadness shot through her; even if it was still a total lie, that he would lie about something that inadvertently showed a ghost of humanity in him was a statement in itself. What a waste of a person, then, this whole affair was proving to be, from beginning to the inevitable end.

Of course, her mystery father would have forgotten because that's what people do, go on to handle the next hit, the next joy, the next thing. But here was a boy--then, at the time, now--who held on to the image of a handshake. The way he had looked down made her want to believe in him, in his chance to connect to people still, and that maybe underneath it all he didn't want to hurt her.

"It wasn't important what was on my mind. I was going by rote, endlessly, doing what a good Christian boy would do. It gives me hope and the idea that my life wasn't so meaningless in the beginning. Even then, I was helping my own evolution."

"You and I have very different ideas about what is important. What happened to you between then and now to make you kill the old you. Or was that person never real at all?"

"For once, you make a good observation. The secret is he never did exist. I've been able to be what I had to be in order to survive. The stack of cards changed and so did I."

The clearing still had fragmented figures of death lying in an almost ritualistic circle. She had the odd impression that they had moved somehow, or were moving still with limbs that shook with the wind.

"So twisted," she observed. "All of it. I don't understand something. I know I wouldn't forget a thing like that, people don't just forget things like that, no matter where they are in their lives, I-."

"Daddy dearest had that taken care of, precious. Now, about the bodies. Give me a hand, make yourself useful?"

"I don't think I can," Claire said and crossed her arms, wishing he hadn't said anything at all. "I won't be good at it." I won't be able to stand it, she thought.

"Won't do anything unless you're the best of the best, huh. Girl after my own heart. But really. I insist."

"What should I...what should I do?"

"Gather them in a heap. One on top of the other. Maximum surface area. Then I'll do the rest."

"You could totally do that now...You just want me to be a part of this."

"Totally," he mocked. "Now, I know, with the passing of time, numerous threats are empty threats. Quantity over quality. So if I have to threaten you again, we'll see if there can be two of you when I cut you right down the middle."

She bit her lip, felt a no-pain that was common to her, and any sadness or pity was burned away by hatred. She moved towards them--the faceless and charred--seemingly in slow motion. She moved up her sleeves to cover her hands because history would repeat itself, and she'd be hysterical and lose her mind in a way no healing could ever truly fix. How many times in her life would a clear coat of lies cover up a hurt she didn't even understand in herself? How can someone possibly ever come back from those little deaths which were more true than anything physical? At least blood comes out and you can get lost in the pain. With this hurt, she had clarity.

"-Can't mess up your manicure, right," he was hissing out. S. Something with an S, and a lie.

"I know you think you want what I have," she began, still feeling the twisted, old (still hot) arm of now sexless body through her pink jacket. "And I know you think you know me, or want me to be this caricature off of a movie so you don't have to feel anything when you kill me. Won't be much of a loss. But I might be a lie, myself. You may not want to know me, really. In fact, you don't want to...go there. And this ability? This wonderful, special ability...if I was allowed to live, I'd still be around when the sun freaking collapses on itself. One day, it will just be me. Somehow, someway, in a frozen world, with no one but myself. And I'm not even sure if I like myself. It might be hell to be there, just with myself, and that's why I haven't tried to run away. I'm not sure about me. But you...you hate yourself. Might for me...written in stone for you. It will be...terrible. I should let you have it, but it seems too cruel even for you. If you just can't stand the thought of someone having something you don't, fine, then kill me. But at least think...at least consider letting it die with me."

"Shut up, you self-righteous bitch."

Her arms were shaking with her emotional outpouring, but his cold tone felt like a slap across the face.

"How did you manage to make it all about you? You're a number on a list, sweetheart. Deal with it."

"Right, then," she said, her tongue feeling thick. "Freeze in hell."

"You think you can fool me into thinking you anything more than a shallow puddle. Just a plain reflection of everyone else around you. Just like your uncle, sad, little man he is. You all must be inbred or something. You're always someone else's shadow. Around your cheerleading friends, you're a cheerleader, and a misfit, a misfit. Around smarter company, you're a smart girl. Around either father, you are them, and I'm sure that goes double for the mothers. And around me, suddenly you have...fuck, for lack of a better word, a dark side. What other cliché can you be? Face it, Claire, you're boring."

That's not true, she told herself. Not true.

"Did I hurt you? Those fragile feelings of yours can't handle the fact that even death doesn't half want you."

"I'm finished with them," she said. That was true. They were all in a heap, like he had said to do. They were all dead. Not a single survivor. Or so she thought. So she hoped, dearly, that someone just wasn't unconscious.

"There's so much iron in bodies. Though you never think about it." He lifted his hand and something so...she didn't care. She was too hurt. "I'll bring all that iron and congeal it. Melt it. And since all this talk of freezing, it's appropriate to freeze them and then break them in a thousand little pieces. Then I'll add some fire, just for the hell of it."

She turned to go back to the car. She felt his eyes on her, but it didn't seem to matter. Not truly, anyway. She didn't know if she could say another word.

"No matter how many times you throw yourself off that ledge, you'll never find it. They don't make epiphanies for girls like you."

Barely a whisper. She kept walking.

* * *

In the car, he pulled the electrical-outlet trick again, only it was more subdued. He grimaced and glared at everything and nothing at once. Terry didn't seem to notice, sitting in the backseat and staring at her hands as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Are you alright?" Claire ventured, in a monotone voice. Instead of answering or acknowledging her, he suddenly turned in his seat to look at their captive audience.

"It'd surprise you, considering her _intelligent _conversation, but our Claire used to be a cheerleader."

She gripped the steering wheel tightly.

"I wouldn't have...pictured that," the woman in the backseat muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "I mean...from earlier, I guess she does remind me of those girls."

"What?" he asked.

"From high school." The woman shuddered, and seemed to blink. There was something wrong, in Claire's opinion, but there was the factor of shock. She had to keep repeating that one.

"That jumping up and down in one place, trying to figure out how to spell team without two e's…what is the word I'm looking for here, Terry? It's kind of a…"

"Vapid?" the girl slurred from the backseat. He snapped his fingers.

"Yes, a vapid waste of time. Brainless, even."

"How would you know?" she whispered, and saw his eyes sharpen when she took the bait. Why? No clue. Like he had said. "I doubt you've ever been to something that actually involved other people being happy."

His eyes lit up, and he leaned forward, becoming animated. She had taken the bait, and…well, this was a relationship, Claire thought, with some horror. To him, this was a relationship.

"Oh yes. Happy. That's always followed by dumb. Great choice of words. You should be in politics."

"Determination. Mental and physical endurance where you keep your body, mind, and voice in synch. Stamina. Awareness of your outer persona, and knowing no matter what the score is, you keep up the spirit. Being about to work in a team. Trusting the other members of the squad to catch you. Confidence. Seeing past the crowd and being able to capture the moment. Seeing past yourself and knowing it isn't all about you. Oh, and being able to do Round Off Double Back Hand Spring. Twice."

"That'll change the world," he said.

"You can verbally abuse me all you want. Your opinion doesn't matter."

"Even when you pleaded to know why this was personal-," he started. Terry hit the dashboard in a dead faint, face-first. "Fuck!"

She yelped, and almost plowed into a tree. It may have been her imagination but she thought the car stopped a little sooner than it should have. A little extra help. It could have been that she would have escaped since it would have been more than a love pat between the tree and the car. She was, ironically, buckled in. He, however, jerked fully in his seat, nearly hitting the window himself.

They both stared at the unconscious woman for a moment.

"Either she agreed with you…uh, very strongly, or she's dead. She was perfectly healthy a moment ago. Is this normal?"

"It's normal for a woman who was poisoned," he said casually, rubbing his neck.

"…You knew. The entire time we were driving."

"It's easy to hear the kidney starting to shut down. Good thing for her she was so drugged that she was withering in agony. That would have been tiresome. I was trying to give her last moments some…conversation, is all, and her last thoughts were about silly girls with pom-poms. I don't think she'll be getting into heaven now."

"Wait. A minute. You knew? Then what was with the screaming?"

"I wasn't. Screaming," he bit out. "I was surprised, temporarily. I thought she'd pass away quietly, but no, she's just ruined the carpet of the car."

"The entire time," she repeated, gaping at him. "I could have…"

"Congratulations, Claire. All those heroics were for a dead woman." He winced, and rubbed his neck some more. "From the start…" He answered her questioning look.

She leapt out of the car and ran towards the trunk, where the syringe was. She nearly slipped on a puddle of forming snow, and he laughed at her flailing figure through the window and winced again.

"I can change this," she whispered frantically as she dug through old chip bags from endless gas-stations and looked for the syringe. "Where is the thing?!" she yelled at him.

"Oh, that's specific. Where, oh where would I ever find one of those things? It's such a r-."

"Enough of t-that BS," she said, waving her arms around rather helplessly. "You know, that thing. The needle."

"In a haystack," he muttered, but got out of the car, moving his head from side to side and looking murderous. "That won't work."

"I don't care! Just, just, where is it?"

"It's about to be right under your nose. Pinning your lips together."

She held up her hands again. "Please. I'm asking. See? I'm begging you. Where is it?"

"I could use some more incentive on your part."

"I'll give you a dose of my blood to fix your neck."

"That's uninspired."

"You can be the hero. You can be the one who saved her life by gallantly handing me the syringe."

He laughed. "Oh, goody, that makes my life worth living," he said sarcastically but pulled out the needle. "I don't care about her. She's nothing."

"Then why?" she inquired, exasperated.

"Because it will hurt you so much when it doesn't work, that your last shot at being an individual person with that ability is ruined. And I'll savor the broken look on your face."

"We'll just see," she said, through a haze of numbness, and quickly took the syringe and stabbed blindly into her arm. She hurried to the backseat door and pulled it open. Or tried. He was holding it shut.

"Beg some more. I kind of like it."

She was at a lost. "I don't know what else to say. You've proven your point. Anything I have to give, you can just take."

This was a new smile. A kind of secret smile from him that his victims in their last moments saw. It was a mix of simple 'I'm better than you can ever be' with 'Why do you make me hurt you so?' It wasn't an altogether human smile, though laced with primitive human drives. She had to admit that she had been hoping to talk him out of it, to talk him back into…something better, but now she knew for sure that she was fooling herself.

She lost hope.

The door swung open. She couldn't bear to look at him, but stuck the syringe into the young—so young, not much older than she was—woman's arm. A moment passed. Then several more, and Terry lay in the seat, her head still flat against the dashboard like a crude mimicry of a discarded doll. A cruel joke, to die without a shred of dignity, to die trying to be polite to a murderer. It wasn't as bad as the naked woman lying in the dirt with ice gathering in her eyes but it was too close.

Claire reached over and gently pulled her into a sitting position.

"And…nothing. Nada," he said. "You can't always part the Red Sea, pr-."

Then Terry sputtered.

"And sometimes you do," Claire muttered. Not to be sarcastic in any way, though that's exactly the way Gabriel took it. Or how...t was on the tip of her tongue. Almost.

"Where—oh, I'm sorry, I must hav-"

He reached past her, and Claire knew he was going to kill the girl just because. Things happened in quick succession.

She leapt at him, instinctively, and got her arms looped around his neck before she really planned for it. Around his very sensitive neck. He let out a hiss of pain and actually stumbled backward, seeming hesitant about pushing her off completely since she had a very good grip. This was familiar.

It was so familiar it was painful but she forced herself to maintain her grip, her life suddenly cleaved in two, and the bridge between those two parts was shaking and threatening to break forever if she didn't continue.

So she held on.

"Get--I'm going to tear you apart!"

She kicked the back of his knee hard and he did fall. On top of her, but he was down. She added pressure, and he cried out. Instead of trying to get up, he pushed down on her body, with the extra force of telekinesis, and she couldn't even get air to scream.

Then came the burning, peeling, searing heat. It seemed like his body, his being, was starting to glow a sickly orange, and somehow, then, she found the air. She shrieked, and tried to push him up without avail.

Vaguely, she saw their car speed off, weaving dangerously at first but then gaining momentum. Oh yeah. Vaguely, through the fire of the pain. The keys had still been in the ignition.

Smart girl, and being the one left behind…

**Run**.

"Oh God," she whispered. He was over her, his knees digging into her side, holding her arms above her hand, and she knew his name. "Sylar."

He froze and stared at her. Their eyes met, and she saw nothing in his but that old insatiability that lurks in the gaze of sharks.

"About time," Sylar said. What more could there be?

"Not ever," she said.

"Excuse me? What kind of last words are those?"

"For a minute, you had me. You won't know when, but you had me. I didn't want to see it because of what you are, because of who I don't want to be. I was..." Sylar didn't seem to understand, as he narrowed his eyes in confusion. "For a moment. I guess that was just a reflection. And never ever. Even if you were the last man on earth."

His confusion melted away into a blank state where he simply stared at her. She had the idea that she had been his only in that regard, as well. It was just something so self-absorbed about him that she didn't believe that he would honestly notice a person who liked him. Or ruin it. That she had sex with him…a man who had killed a girl right in front of her, a girl he had mistaken for her…was a thing of ruins in itself. It made perfect sense why she had caught his attention amongst his cult of self and endless fatalism.

He was determined to fail. What can be safer than an already messed up relationship? And damn him for using her that way. And her, for letting herself be used.

"Ah. That's...expected. Is that..."

"I know. So."

"I'm disappointed the game ended this early."

"Just kill me."

"I don't think I will," he said cautiously, as though feeling around for a trick. "No. Not yet. You don't get to decide, I do. Me."

Hurt, hurt, hurt. "Then I'll be as good as dead. If you think I'm boring, I'll be..." Wow, as weak sounding in the future as now.

"I was boring once," he said in a tone of quiet confession. It was spoken in such an intimate way that she almost lost the snapshot of her memory. Of him holding a kicking, screaming girl up against a locker.

"I think I'll kill you when you're interesting again. How's that?"

"Not much incentive, there."

"If you ever want to be free of me, then you'll work on it. Besides, you want to see your family again, before you die. I want to see them again. I want them to see you die. Can't you just...give me that?"

Claire was quiet.

"You're one of the few victims who I can see the full effect of my existence when everyone breaks over the loss. I'm going to show them how it works, how life really is, and I'll win. So you're going to wait for me, and you're going to calm down. I'll try to...preserve you a little better along the way."

"To get attention. Using me," she said, burning up inside. "All this pain, all this torture over wanting to be noticed."

"Not quite. But. I'm glad you have such great warranty." He got to his feet, stared down at her a little longer, and then looked in the direction of where Terry drove in a fury. "She's coming back."

"Uh-huh," Claire said, doubting that, and she got up herself, shaking.

"From the sound of it, she's coming to run us over."

"I can't bla-."

He passed out. Just fell over, in a dead faint, and she screamed in shock. He hit the ground with a painful thud and lay there, motionless. Claire couldn't believe it. She either had to be dead or dreaming.

She edged closer, and saw his chest rising and falling, and then noticed the pale currents running up and down his neck. It was the new ability, and she had the feeling it had been too much for him. He had gotten too upset, too angry with her. As a result, he had lost focus.

She couldn't believe her luck. Except that it wasn't luck at all. She still only remembered him. Other things were along the edge of that snapshot but for now, she just remembered Sylar and that dead girl.

What a hero she turned out to be.

A horrible roaring sound filled the air, and she spun around, almost slipping on the ice again. Sylar had been right. The girl was coming back. The car lights blinded her as the truck cut the curve of the road like a knife and headed straight for them.

She had no time to get him out of the road.

Claire looked at him lying there, and considered it. But no. She couldn't. Even though he deserved it entirely, to die by being hit by a car. Average as can be. But he was just lying there, and he just looked so indescribly...

So she started to run towards the oncoming car and hoped her plan would work.

Credit: 'I'm your life' is from Metallica. It's from Sad but True, I think.

Also, for Gabriel saving young children's lives, you should check out sinemoras09's Maria. Tis a great look at that type of situation.


End file.
